


Dance For You

by sweetestsight



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22486594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetestsight/pseuds/sweetestsight
Summary: Brian gets dragged to a strip club.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	Dance For You

Brian did not want to come to a strip club.

He’d fought tooth and nail, actually. He’d loudly expressed the fact that the awarding of his grant would be much more suitably celebrated over a nice dinner out with his close friends and a handful of colleagues; you know, an _appropriate_ setting for any sort of academic affair.

Freddie had disagreed.

And that’s how he’s here, sat at the bar with Freddie on one side and John on the other, Veronica sitting on the end and loudly cheering while reaching up to tuck notes into the nearest girl’s thong.

(“She was raised Catholic,” John explains, which helpfully explains nothing.)

“You’ve gotta loosen up, Bri,” Freddie yells over the pounding bass. He digs through his (embarrassingly empty) wallet, counting bills with a debonair flick of his wrist. “Here, what do you say I book you a private room?”

“Absolutely not,” Brian mutters.

“I happen to think it would loosen you up considerably.”

“You clearly don’t understand what awkwardness does to a person.”

“Pshaw,” Freddie says. He actually says it: _pshaw._ “There’s nothing awkward about it. Believe you me. Once they get down to it…”

And that’s basically the last Brian hears.

All he can focus on all at once is the figure that had appeared from behind the curtain moments before. Creamy skin colored blue by the stage lights, soft blonde hair brushing prominent collarbones, strong thighs peeping through the gap between lace stockings and the most redundantly small pair of booty shorts Brian has ever seen. A tie is knotted loosely around a neck, hanging down a perfect chest. The dancer isn’t wearing shoes, and it sticks out to Brian as oddly innocent and natural. Whoever they are, they’re the only dancer in the club who isn’t rocking a pair of sky-high heels.

“Brian? Are you even listening?” Freddie asks loudly. “He’s not listening. Finally found a chick worth staring at, huh?”

“I don’t think that’s a chick, Fred,” John supplies helpfully.

The dancer taps a woman on the shoulder, and she lowers her leg smoothly from the pole to make room for him. It brings him closer, right under one of the swirling blue lights, and Brian can make out his light eyes now, his long eyelashes darkened with makeup and his charmingly small mouth painted an innocent pink.

He catches Brian staring suddenly, and his tiny smile sends a bolt of lightning straight down Brian’s spine.

His entire routine goes by faster than Brian could have expected. He loses himself in the lights, the pounding bass and the way the man’s thighs are clenched around the pole, at once beautifully graceful and effortlessly strong. Watching him twirl is hypnotizing and over far too soon.

He can’t say he isn’t disappointed when the man finally leaves, sending him one last wink over his shoulder as he’s beckoned off by another one of his coworkers. Brian lets out a long breath, turning to Freddie finally.

Freddie smiles at him, eyebrows raised. “Back with us?”

“I’ve been paying attention,” Brian grunts, even though he’s had no concept of what Freddie has been saying for the last however-long and has no idea where John and Ronnie have wandered off to.

“You definitely have _not_ , but I appreciate the effort.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” Brian mutters, flustered. He waves the bartender down and gets a nod and a second whiskey for his effort, which he drowns in one long drink.

“Woah there, now,” Freddie says, amused.

“What? I’m celebrating.”

“You might want to save a little sobriety for the main act, is all,” Freddie says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Someone taps his shoulder. He turns, and when he’s met with a pair of wide blue eyes he nearly faints on the spot.

The dancer smiles, amused. “Mind if I borrow you?”

His brain has officially flatlined. “What.”

“Go with him, Bri,” Freddie grins, pushing him out of his seat.

“What.”

“Come on, honey,” the dancer says. He takes Brian’s hand in his own, his palms rough and warm. “I don’t bite. Just want to see you in private.”

“Go on!” Freddie calls.

And then he’s lost in the crowd of people wandering the club floor, the hand in his own the only thing giving him any sense of direction. He follows the dancer through the room, and then through another room, and then down a short hall, and then all at once they’re walking into some sort of private room lit by dim reddish bulbs, a low coffee table holding a candle and nothing else, a mirrored ceiling—and that’s the last Brian gets of it before he’s pushed backward onto an overstuffed white satin loveseat.

He lets out a quiet _oof_ as he falls, then clenches his fists by his side as he looks up at the man towering above him. Or maybe towering is a bit of a generous word—the dancer seems a good deal shorter than him, anyway—but between the darkness and the confidence oozing off him in waves he seems somehow larger than life.

The dancer studies him for a minute. “You’ve never been in a strip club before, have you?”

“You can tell?” Brian asks, swallowing.

The dancer shrugs, swaying his hips seemingly mindlessly to the bass that can be heard even through the walls. “Comes with the job,” he says, crossing one arm over his head and tracing the other down his chest. “That, and your friend says you’re here to celebrate a grant. We don’t get a lot of young academic types.”

Brian nods, his mouth dry.

“Congratulations,” the dancer says, his voice low and rough. He smiles then and turns, bending halfway down as he sways his ass back and forth smoothly. “It kind of fits, doesn’t it? You’re a big fancy professor or something and I’ve got this schoolboy thing going on for the night.”

“You’re dressed as a schoolboy?” Brian asks, squinting.

“What, you can’t tell?” the man laughs.

“There’s not much to go on,” Brian mutters, and the man laughs again.

“They called you—what, Bri?”

“It’s Brian,” he murmurs. “What’s your name?”

“Here it’s Peaches, sweet thing. You can call me Roger if you want.”

It fits him. “What’s—I’m sorry, what’s the etiquette here? Am I allowed to touch you?”

“You’re not really supposed to,” Roger tells him lightly. He turns around, still swaying his hips to the beat, and dips his pelvis low toward Brian’s lap. “You can if you want. I wouldn’t mind. Don’t be rough, though. No grabbing, no pinching, no spanking.”

“People do that?” Brian asks, frowning. He can barely even bring himself to graze his fingertips against Roger’s hip, let alone grab him.

Roger snorts.

Brian carefully reaches up, barely holding Roger’s hips in the lightest grip he can manage. Even through the fabric of his shorts—though there’s not much to be found—he’s hot to the touch.

Roger smiles at him a little crookedly, pushing him backward lightly until he’s laying against the backrest, practically reclining with the way the furniture is made. The next second he’s climbing up, his knees on either side of Brian’s hips as he rolls his crotch downward suggestively, long eyelashes fanning shadows against his cheeks. Just a fraction of a centimeter further downward and he would be straddling Brian properly, rubbing against him for real. The thought sends heat pooling in his gut, and with a flush of embarrassment he realizes he’s hard.

And then he wonders if he should be embarrassed. He’s in a strip club. Isn’t this the whole point?

“Enjoying yourself, professor?” Roger breathes, grinning.

Brian huffs out a startled laugh at that, nodding to hide his blush. “You’re very good at this.”

“Thank you,” Roger replies, his smile dazzling. “I think those are the first full marks I’ve gotten in my life, come to think of it.”

“You’re really pretty,” Brian adds before he loses his nerve. “I’ve never seen someone who looks the way you do.”

That one seems to surprise him a little more, and he searches for words for a moment. “Thank you,” he says again finally. “That’s sweet.” A bell goes off somewhere, and he stands up. “I wish we had more time,” he says, his voice surprisingly regretful.

“Me too,” Brian murmurs. He stands and follows Roger to the doorway of the room, not-so-subtly adjusting the bulge in his hands so it’s (hopefully) not quite as glaringly obvious.

Roger hesitates with his hand on the door for a long moment, seemingly trying to make up his mind about something. Finally he leans up, pressing a chaste, close-mouthed kiss against the corner of Brian’s lips. “Good luck with your grant, professor,” he murmurs, the trace of a smile hanging in his eyes.

And then he’s gone.

Brian stands there for a long moment, properly stunned. It takes him a good few minutes before he finally has enough of a semblance of where he is to go search out his friends in the main room of the club.

(Much, _much_ later that night when he’s finally nestled in his pile of blankets in bed, his phone pings.

_Unknown number: Freddie gave me your number as you guys were leaving. He seemed to think you and I might want to get to know each other a little better. I hope you’d agree. Rog xx_

Brian smiles in the light of his phone, still squinting against the glare, and begins typing.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dears, hope you liked it! I might write a follow up to this someday soon, once the pirate au is no longer taking over my life. Because one chapter is published, and suddenly that inspired three days of speed writing. So expect more of that on Sunday. Other than that, please let me know if you liked!


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